


It Creeps Up On You

by 37Cats



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37Cats/pseuds/37Cats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Teen Wolf Kink Meme:</p><p>Prompt was "It's not like Jackson even likes Stiles, he's an annoyance that barely registers on Jackson's radar. But Stiles just smells so damn good, Jackson can't help himself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Creeps Up On You

**Author's Note:**

> This has been cleaned up and changed from the original post!

He’s fucking around at his locker, listening to Danny bitching about his new guy putting on the pressure, when it hits him.  One minute he’s contemplating if the beat down would be worth telling Danny not to be _that girl_ , the next he’s half hard and salivating because something smells just that fucking good.  Before he can think about it he’s turned around with his eyes closed and his nose up in the fucking air, scenting like a fucking dog.  He almost doesn’t give a shit what he must look like because whatever that is he’s going to track it down and eat it. Or fuck it. Or both. Jesus.  
  
He’s saved from being the new school freak by McCall, who slams him into the lockers like a metric fuck ton of pissy wolf and flashes fucking fang at him like they’re not in the middle of the hallway between periods.  Jackson has to fight the impulse to growl and snap back because, seriously? What the fuck?    
  
Then spaz boy is weaseling between them, all _dude, dude! What are you even – how is this – are you out of your freaking mind?_   Flailing like he’s not in _very close_ proximity to other people’s faces.    
  
Thank fuck McCall backs down enough to let himself be pulled down the hallway, even if he does growl something about keeping an eye on Jackson before he fully disengages, because the challenge and the body contact and that fucking smell all have Jackson ready to throw down right there, pack safety be damned.  Jackson turns to Danny to share a _what a freak_ look, except Danny’s already giving him the stink eye.  Then he rubs his hands over his face, hard, like he’s tired or some shit.  
  
“One of these days you are going to get yourself killed, Jackson, “ he sighs.

 

***  
  
It hits him again in the cafeteria, just as he’s swinging by Danny.  He can’t resist leaning over and taking a good whiff before demanding what the fuck Danny’s eating that smells so good.  
  
“My carrots?” Danny asks, and gives him a look.    
  
It’s surprisingly hard to decipher for one of Danny’s looks.  It might be a _when did you start liking carrots_ look, or a _dude, what’s up with the crazy_ look, or even a _get away I’m busy_ look.  He doesn’t stop with the look when Jackson shrugs back in confused annoyance.  Instead he ratchets it up to a _WTF!_ look.  Then he glances, all meaningfully, at whoever the fuck is sitting next to him.  
  
Jackson’s got to fight down the urge to turn and rip the throat out of whoever it is Danny’s looking at, because Danny is his.  Always has been, always will be, and Jackson thought that was pretty fucking clear to everyone.  He settles for whipping around and glaring.  It’s just Stilinski, though, sitting there with his pen in his mouth, wide-eyed and prey-still.  The tension drains from Jackson in a rush, leaving him loose and skimming the edge of light-headed.  It makes him just a little giddy, so he makes eye contact and grins, slow and sharp, because it never fails to send Stilinski’s pulse rabbiting.  
  
“Dude!  Just take a carrot and go!” Danny snaps, rattling the container in front of Jackson’s face.  
  
Jackson does, but only because it’s Danny.

 

***  
                                                                                                    
If Scott had really wanted to be convincing in his whole _having superpowers sucks, no really_ speech all he had to say was "permanent blue balls," and Jackson would have backed that shit up and never spoken of it again.   Okay, probably not.  He would have maybe thought about it a little more, though.  
  
 Seriously, you’d think the guy would at least have the decency to mention that, oh yeah, part of the deal was spending the rest of forever two seconds away from popping a boner.  Jackson is a teenage boy, he’s no stranger to inappropriatly timed boners, but this shit is fucking _ridiculous_.

                                                                            
***                                                                                                    
  
 He’s in the middle of a practice scrimmage and he can’t even focus on the ball.  He’s spent the entire time tracking the changes in the wind, trying to figure out where the fuck that smell is coming from, because if he doesn’t figure it out right in the next five minutes he’s not going to be responsible for what happens.  It’s slipping in and out of, like, focus, all over the field and Jackson just cannot pin it down.  He’s distantly aware of the fact that coach is going ape shit on the sidelines, a frenetic ball of impotent rage, but he just can’t quite make himself care.  
  
Then he’s got it.  It’s like, crystal clear – strong and sharp and full in his nose, and there is no fucking way he’s losing it again.  He stretches out into a run, ignoring coach screaming about how he’s _going the wrong fucking way, Whittemore_.  He dances around Johnson, feints around McCall, then tangles with someone and goes down, hard.  
  
The smell is all around him, and he’s totally wolfed out, so it’s a good thing it’s Stiles under him.  Derek has been looking for a reason to castrate him, and outing the pack because of a _smell_ , no matter how awesome, probably fits the bill.  Underneath him Stiles makes a little whining sound in the back of his throat and twitches.  Jackson tightens the hand he’s got on Stiles hip and growls back, because he just cannot take this shit right now.  The way Stiles goes still and then tilts his head, exposing the curve of his neck, is so satisfying Jackson wants to nose at his jaw and nip the soft skin behind his ear.     
  
He totally would too, except for the fucking helmets.    
  
And, uh, well — it’s _Stiles_.  
  
 Jackson takes a deep breath to steady himself and the world is suddenly fragmentary.  The jagged movement of the chest under his.  The hot-wet rush of breath against the forearm Jackson has braced by Stiles face.  The damp warmth of the back of a knee where it’s thrown over Jackson’s thigh.    
  
Then the world is fragmentary for a whole new set of reasons.  Danny is pulling him up by the back of his jersey, all rough and _calm down Scott, just calm the fuck down_.  And Stiles is squeaking _Oh My GOD – did you just – what? No seriously – what?_   Coach is in the middle of the field, face red, having an aneurysm or a seizure or something.  And Jackson?  Is confused and turned on and buzzing with who the fuck knows what – fucking _bloodlust_ or something – and all his instincts are telling him fight, kill, hunt, rut --  
  
Danny snaps him out of it by grabbing his collar and just pulling him away from it, jerking viciously whenever he tries to turn back around.  
  
“Leave it,” he snaps, like talking to a dog. “Leave. It.”

 

  ***                                                                          
                                                                                                    
In the locker room Danny ignores him until everyone else has left.  Jackson finishes getting dressed and then sits on the bench in front of their lockers, waits it out, because the only time Danny ignores him is when he’s got something really serious to say.  Finally Danny slams his locker closed, leans against it, and glares at Jackson.  
  
“This is a werewolf thing, isn’t it?” he snaps.  “It’s like the whole touching thing and the super protective thing and the following Scott around like a puppy thing.  This is so fucked up man.  This is fucked up, and I can’t believe you did this for freaking lacrosse!”  
  
Jackson just stares at him, because seriously?  Of everyone, he would expect Danny to understand.  Jackson wants to say he didn’t do this just to be better at lacrosse; he did this to be better at _everything_.  Because Jackson is faster and stronger than everyone else, it’s what makes Jackson _Jackson_ , without it who the fuck would he be?  He wants to say he thought Danny got that.  Except you don’t just say shit like that, not in the middle of the locker room, not were people might hear.  
  
He settles for hissing back “I don’t follow McCall around like a puppy! What the _fuck_?”  
  
Danny gives him another look, the same one he gave Jackson when he swore up and down that he was totally calling the shots when it came to him and Lydia.  He doesn’t laugh in Jackson’s face this time, just looks tired and annoyed.    
  
“Just, get a handle on this, man, before it gets even more out of hand.”  
  
Jackson has no fucking idea what Danny’s talking about.  He totally has this wolf shit under control.  

 

***  
                                                                                                    
Jackson wakes up in a cold sweat, heart pounding and rock hard, rips himself out of the tangle of his sticky sheets and scrabbles for his cell.  He’s got Danny’s number dialing before he can even catch his breath and hardly waits for Danny’s mumbled _..the fuck?_ before he starts shouting.  
  
“Dude – I think I want to fuck Stiles!”  
  
“Oh my god” Danny groans, “it’s like 3 o’clock.  You couldn’t have waited until school for this?”  
  
“Waited until school?” Jackson hisses back, “waited until-- you wanted me to wait until school to tell you that I’m suddenly gay?”  
  
“I waited two years to tell you,” Danny points out.  
  
In the silence that follows Jackson can hear the soft crinkle of sheets and the creak of Danny’s mattress as he moves around.  He can imagine Danny sitting up, settling in, tugging and smoothing the navy sheets over his lap until they are as tidy as everything else in his room.  
  
“Besides,” Danny continues eventually, “Stiles is pack, right?  So maybe it’s not a gay thing, maybe it’s a pack thing.”  
  
Jackson bumps his head back against the wall and moans because – a pack thing? _Jesus_.  
  
“I can’t believe I’m in a wolf pack with freaking McCall.”  
  
“You can’t believe you’re in a wolf pack with Scott?  I can’t believe you’re in a wolf pack, _period_.  Jesus, Jackson.”  
  
“So are you.” Jackson mutters; if Jackson has to be in a wolf pack, then Danny does too.  
  
“Uh…thanks” Danny says, all hesitant, after another pause and Jackson bangs his head back against the wall a little harder.  If being a werewolf means Jackson has to talk about his feelings, then he is going to have to hunt Derek fucking Hale down and rip out his throat.  
  
“Look man, we already did the whole sexual identity crisis once, and it sucked – right?”  Danny sighs.  Jackson imagines that he’s rubbing the heel of one hand hard over his eyes right about now.  “There was crying and snot and, like, drool and a lot of really awkward hugging and shit.  I really don’t want to do that again, especially not at ass o’clock in the morning.  So – can we not, and say we did? “  
  
“But Danny…” Jackson whines.  
  
“Just remember:  liking cock is cool, not liking cock is cool, I’m cool, you’re cool.  If it was true in eighth grade, it’s true now.”  
  
“But Danny – it’s Stiles!”  Jackson honestly doesn’t mean to sound like a whiney little bitch, but - _it’s Stiles._  
  
“I know, and if you don’t deal with it soon Scott is going to snap and, like, rip your face off in the middle of English.  Now, I’m going back to sleep.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
He hangs up just like that.  Asshole, Jackson thinks, and punches his pillow a few times, like if it’s in the right shape he’ll actually fall back asleep.

 

***

  
He spends the whole next day telling himself to just man the fuck up and get this shit over with.  He almost does it, too, a whole bunch of times.  There just isn’t a really good way to say _you smell good, wanna fuck?_ to someone you’ve never actually had a real conversation with, so he always ends up veering away at the last moment.  Unfortunately this means that he’s kinda following Scott and Stiles around like a creeper, and that shit gets noticed fast.  Scott’s starting to give him these really thoughtful looks.  Stiles has developed this disturbingly satisfying twitch every time he sees Jackson.  
  
By the end of the day Jackson has completely failed to man the fuck up.  He’s gone to ground in the chemistry lab, where no one will bother him and he can lick his wounds in private (thank _fuck_ not literally).  He’s just about to text Danny to see if he wants to hit up Jackson’s parent’s liquor cabinet and get shitfaced, because Jackson needs to forget this failure of a day ever happened, when the door jerks open.  
  
“You sure you left it in here?  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in here today since you’ve been pretty much sticking to my ass like _oh my god, Jackson!_   Um.  Hi Jackson! Scott and I were just – you know what, not that important – we’ll just leave you to, uh,” Stiles makes a gesture that Jackson can’t quite figure out, but it looks a little lewd, and does an about face, right into Scott. He jerks back and Scott uses the motion to herd him farther into the room.  
  
Then they all just stand there, looking at each other.  Scott’s got this creepy Zen thing going on, which is so not cool, considering Stiles is practically vibrating and Jackson is getting dizzy with the smell of him.  It’s thick and rich in the air, almost alive in a way Jackson never realized a smell could be, and it hits him deep in the gut, tightens his chest with want.  
  
 Right now it’s also soured with fear and anxiety.  Jackson shoulders between Stiles and the other wolf, shoving Stiles back against the wall behind them.  The anxiety behind him spikes and Jackson spins to try to pinpoint the danger.  He thought it was the other wolf, but he must be wrong because — because the other wolf is McCall and McCall is pack, and pack doesn’t steal from pack, so Stiles is safe with Scott.    
  
He looks to Scott for some sort of direction and Scott smirks back at him.  Asshole.  
  
“Uh, so what exactly is going on here? Cause, dude, I think I’m missing something and I’m pretty sure it’s something major,”  Stiles asks from his position behind Jackson.  The quaver in his voice makes Jackson want to crowd him into a corner, rub up against him and cuddle until he feels safe again.    
  
 _Oh holy fuck_ , Jackson is so screwed.    
  
“Uh, guys?  Hello?”  Stiles is twitching, his rapid breath hot against the back of Jackson’s neck.  “Anyone want to – or you could just ignore me, clearly this is some sort of freaky werewolf thing.  Shit, don’t kill each other, please?  That would be really awkward ‘cause my dad would ask me all kinds of questions and he’s like, a human lie detector, and so he’d find out about the whole werewolf thing and then Derek would find out that he had found out because I’m pretty sure he can smell the truth – I mean Derek, not my dad – and then he’d disembowel my dad and that would suck.  I really really like my dad, guys, and I don’t want Derek to kill him, so – uh – don’t kill each other, please? Guys?”  
  
Jackson has to like physically fight the urge to turn around and blanket Stiles body with his own, use the weight and heat of himself to calm the racing of Stiles heart.  He wants to bury his face against the flutter of pulse at Stile neck and stroke his sides and back until Stiles remembers how to calm down and just breathe, breathe.    
  
Shit.  
  
Jackson is _crazy fucked_ , but there’s no rush of panic like there was freshman year, when he realized that he was kinda in love with Lydia Martin and he had to hide in his room with the bottle of vodka his mother keeps in the upstairs linen closet.  Which is probably a good thing, cause that had ended with him huddled in the bathtub while Danny shoved ice cubes down his throat and quietly freaked out about whether or not to call 911.  Becoming a werewolf seems to have taken care of what hours of intensive therapy couldn’t – his mom will be so pleased.    
  
Stiles shifts behind him and Jackson reaches back to keep him where he is.  He’ll be able to take care of Stiles later, but right now he’s got to take care of this.  Scott is still staring at him, eyes faintly amber, waiting.    
  
There’s really no way to do this in a human body that isn’t awkward as fuck, so Jackson settles for dropping his eyes and lifting his head, up and to the side.  He hopes that gets the message across.  Scott is totally within his rights to make Jackson get down on his back and show belly, but hopefully he’s not going to be that much of a dick.  Scott does drag it out for a few long and terrible moments.  Jackson’s just about to give up on dignity and go down on his knees when Scott darts forward.  He’s up in Jackson’s space, hand careful but firm around Jackson’s throat, and Jackson can’t quite stop his flinch.  Scott grins and gives him an almost playful shake and then he’s gone, the fucker, and it’s just Jackson and Stiles.  
  
“Did he just – did you just – did I just get _given away_?” Stiles yelps.  “No, seriously.  Did Scott just give me to you?  Is that legal?  I’m pretty sure there are laws against that, like, ‘ _you can’t give away your best friend, even if you’re a freaking werewolf, no really_ ’ laws.  You do realize I’m a person, right?  Like – I can say no to this, can’t I?  Cause if I can’t that’s seriously fucked-up – and also my dad is the sheriff, remember?  And I’m pretty sure that he’s going to kill my boyfriend if I ever manage to get one, or at least scare the shit out of him with his shotgun, and that’s a boyfriend that I actually want.  I take no responsibility for what he does to my freaky _pseudo-boyfriend-by-obscure-werewolf-custom that I don’t really want anything to do with_.  Wait – this is a boyfriend type thing, right?  Cause I’m not down with one-time-only – uh – oh!”  
  
Jackson sighs into the slope of Stiles shoulder, rubs his nose up the length of his neck and relaxes into the heat and scent of him.  As soon as he can he’s going to get Stiles horizontal and shove his face into his armpits, rub his cheek into the crease of his groin.  Just the thought of it makes Jackson shiver in pleasure, and his breath stutters when Stiles runs a soothing hand down Jackson’s spine.  He fits his hands over Stiles hips and jerks him closer, pushing hard into his body, enjoying the way Stiles arches against him.  
  
Stiles throat clicks when he swallows and his voice is uneven when he says “I’m not saying that I’m going to say no, just, I want it on the record that I _could_ – and that the whole giving another person away thing is not cool and I am not behind it.  And also that sex probably won’t happen, you know, right away, cause I haven’t actually done it yet?  And also it’s kinda intimidating…although I guess we could always ask Danny.  Although maybe not, because – awkward, right?”  
  
Jackson shifts against him, getting more comfortable, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him close.    
  
“Or this, this is fine too,” Stiles sighs, and lets Jackson hold him up.

  
***                                                                                                    
  
He’s half asleep on the porch of Derek’s house, the smell of fresh cut wood and Stiles surrounding him.  Stiles lap in just about the most perfect pillow ever and for once he’s actually quiet, so the only sound is the far off swishing of wind through tree tops and the occasional bird song.  
  
“But really, who’d have thought werewolves are basically just huge cuddle sluts?”  Stiles asks, like they’re in the middle of some conversation, and then pokes him in the cheek when Jackson pretends to be asleep.  So much for the quiet part of peace and quiet.  
  
He rolls over and shoves him face into Stiles’ stomach, because they’re still at that stage where Stiles can be distracted by physical contact and the only thing that could make this moment better is if he starts running his fingers though Jackson’s hair.  He does, so Jackson nuzzles in closer.  
  
“I’m just never going to get rid of you, am I?”  Derek growls from the doorway.    
  
Stiles somehow manages to both smack Jackson in the head and dump him off his lap when he whips around.  
  
“Dude!  How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?  One of these days you’re totally going to give me a heart attack and trust me, you’ll miss me when I’m gone!”  
  
“Doubt it.”  
  
Stiles makes a moue of disappointment and Derek glares harder, which, _really?_   Because, yeah, he’s a big scary Alpha, but even when Stiles was scared shitless of him the glaring thing didn’t shut Stiles up.  
  
“You wound me!” Stiles gestures dramatically and Jackson ducks, just in case.  “Really man, the whole denial thing is getting kinda old.  Just admit that you love me and that I’m an awesome addition to the pack and then we can, like, hug it out.  It’ll be cathartic, really!  Getting in touch with your feelings will make you feel soooo much better!”    
  
…And now Derek’s glaring at Jackson, like Jackson’s got any control over the stupid shit Stiles says.  He still pulls Stiles up by the back of his shirt, because Derek may have chilled a little bit in the past year or so, but he’s totally not above throwing around a few smacks to the back of the head when he’s pissed, and that shit can sting.  
  
Just for this Jackson is totally going to go down on Stiles in the little arbor behind the house.  It’s just close enough that Derek will hear every filthy sound Stiles makes, but far enough away that Jackson can still play the innocent card and make Derek look like a pervy dick for complaining.  That should earn Derek disappointed looks from Allison and Danny, and Allison and Danny’s disappointed looks are fucking _epic_.    
  
Jackson grins over at Stiles and Stiles stops rambling long enough to smile back.


End file.
